The hunt was over, darkness was falling, and it was now a question of returning to the château. The horses were nearby; they could hear them neighing impatiently. They seemed to be asking if their courage was so doubted that they were not allowed to share in the exciting drama.  
Edouard was bent¹ upon dragging the boar after them, fastening it to the saddle-bow, and so carrying it back to the château; but Roland pointed² out that it was simpler to send a couple of men for it with a barrow. Sir John being of the same opinion, Edouard—who never ceased pointing to the wound in the head, and saying, “That’s my shot; that’s where I aimed”—Edouard, we say, was forced to yield to the majority. The three hunters soon reached the spot where their horses were tethered, mounted, and in less than ten minutes were at the Château des Noires-Fontaines.
 
Madame de Montrevel was watching for them on the portico³. The poor mother had waited there nearly an hour, trembling lest an accident had befallen one or the other of her sons. The moment Edouard espied⁴ her he put his pony⁵ to a gallop⁶, shouting from the gate: “Mother, mother! We killed a boar as big as a donkey. I shot him in the head; you’ll see the hole my ball, made; Roland stuck his hunting knife into the boar’s belly⁷ up to the hilt, and Sir John fired at him twice. Quick, quick! Send the men for the carcass. Don’t be frightened when you see Roland. He’s all covered with blood—but it’s from the boar, and he hasn’t a scratch.”
 
This was delivered with Edouard’s accustomed volubility while Madame de Montrevel was crossing the clearing between the portico and the road to open the gate. She intended to take Edouard in her arms, but he jumped from his saddle and flung himself upon her neck. Roland and Sir John came up just then, and Amélie appeared on the portico at the same instant.
 
Edouard left his mother to worry over Roland, who, covered as he was with blood, looked very terrifying, and rushed to his sister with the tale he had rattled⁸ off to his mother. Amélie listened in an abstracted manner that probably hurt Edouard’s vanity, for he dashed off to the kitchen to describe the affair to Michel, who was certain to listen to him.
 
Michel was indeed interested; but when, after telling him where the carcass lay, Edouard gave him Roland’s order to send a couple of men after the beast, he shook his head.
 
“What!” demanded Edouard, “are you going to refuse to obey my brother?”
 
“Heaven forbid! Master Edouard. Jacques shall start this instant for Montagnac.”
 
“Are you afraid he won’t find any body?”
 
“Goodness, no; he could get a dozen. But the trouble is the time of night. You say the boar lies close to the pavilion of the Chartreuse?”
 
“Not twenty yards from it.”
 
“I’d rather it was three miles,” replied Michel scratching his head; “but never mind. I’ll send for them anyway without telling them what they’re wanted for. Once here, it’s for your brother to make them go.”
 
“Good! Good! Only get them here and I’ll see to that myself.”
 
“Oh!” exclaimed Michel, “if I hadn’t this beastly sprain⁹ I’d go myself. But to-day’s doings have made it worse. Jacques! Jacques!”
 
Jacques came, and Edouard not only waited to hear the order given, but until he had started. Then he ran upstairs to do what Roland and Sir John were already doing, that is, dress for dinner.
 
The whole talk at table, as may be easily imagined, centred upon the day’s prowess. Edouard asked nothing better than to talk about it, and Sir John, astounded¹⁰ by Roland’s skill, courage, and good luck, improved upon the child’s narrative¹¹. Madame de Montrevel shuddered¹² at each detail, and yet she made them repeat it twenty times. That which seemed most clear to her in all this was that Roland had saved Edouard’s life.
 
“Did you thank him for it?” she asked the boy. “Thank whom?”
 
“Your brother.”
 
“Why should I thank him?” retorted Edouard. “I should have done the same thing.”
 
“Ah, madame, what can you expect!” said Sir John; “you are a gazelle who has unwittingly given birth to a race of lions.”
 
Amélie had also paid the closest attention to the account, especially when the hunters spoke¹³ of their proximity¹⁴ to the Chartreuse. From that time on she listened with anxious eyes, and seemed scarcely to breathe, until they told of leaving the woods after the killing¹⁵.
 
After dinner, word was brought that Jacques had returned with two peasants from Montagnac. They wanted exact directions as to where the hunters had left the animal. Roland rose, intending to go to them, but Madame de Montrevel, who could never see enough of her son, turned to the messenger and said: “Bring these worthy¹⁶ men in here. It is not necessary to disturb M. Roland for that.”
 
Five minutes later the two peasants entered, twirling their hats in their hands.
 
“My sons,” said Roland, “I want you to fetch the boar we killed in the forest of Seillon.”
 
“That can be done,” said one of the peasants, consulting his companion with a look.
 
“Yes, it can be done,” answered the other.
 
“Don’t be alarmed,” said Roland. “You shall lose nothing by your trouble.”
 
“Oh! we’re not,” interrupted one of the peasants. “We know you, Monsieur de Montrevel.”
 
“Yes,” answered the other, “we know that, like your father, you’re not in the habit of making people work for nothing. Oh! if all the aristocrats¹⁷ had been like you, Monsieur Louis, there wouldn’t have been any revolution.”
 
“Of course not,” said the other, who seemed to have come solely¹⁸ to echo affirmatively what his companion said.
 
“It remains¹⁹ to be seen now where the animal is,” said the first peasant.
 
“Yes,” repeated the second, “remains to be seen where it is.”
 
“Oh! it won’t be hard to find.”
 
“So much the better,” interjected the peasant.
 
“Do you know the pavilion in the forest?”
 
“Which one?”
 
“Yes, which one?”
 
“The one that belongs to the Chartreuse of Seillon.”
 
The peasants looked at each other.
 
“Well, you’ll find it some twenty feet distant from the front on the way to Genoud.”
 
The peasants looked at each other once more.
 
“Hum!” grunted²⁰ the first one.
 
“Hum!” repeated the other, faithful echo of his companion.
 
“Well, what does this ‘hum’ mean?” demanded Roland.
 
“Confound it.”
 
“Come, explain yourselves. What’s the matter?”
 
“The matter is that we’d rather that it was the other end of the forest.”
 
“But why the other end?” retorted Roland, impatiently; “it’s nine miles from here to the other end, and ............